


Two Boys Kissing

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Sirius goes to a gay bar and meets the last person he expects.  Under cloudy skies, two boys kiss and that one moment comes to define generations of want, need and hope.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acatnamedeaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acatnamedeaster/gifts).



> A gift fic for acatnamedeaster, which turned out to be far less porny than I had intended. Title inspired by YA queer classic David Levithan’s ‘Two Boys Kissing.’

Of course the only gay bar’s in Knockturn. It almost puts Sirius off going at all. Even if Jamie reckons there’s nothing wrong with being queer, Sirius hasn’t met any other bloke that seems eager to suck his cock. Most of them are pretty clear they definitely _don’t_ do that sort of thing. He’s heard the slurs in the changing rooms after Quidditch and he probably should have guessed it would just be him and a bunch of Slytherins, dancing to some shit music and trying to get off with one other. Just his bloody luck.

Sirius pulls a face and eyes the entrance to the club suspiciously. The stairway is small, cramped and uninviting. The bouncer on the door looks Sirius up and down with a sneer before letting him proceed. The bar itself isn’t much cop. It’s almost empty, dark and dingy, with loos that stink of piss and a floor sticky with last night’s booze. Sirius drinks too much rum before a familiar face catches his eye.

“Snape,” he mutters under his breath.

Severus Snape’s face pales as shadows stretch across his sallow cheeks and a sneer crosses his thin, stricken face, his expression pinched and furious. He doesn’t move. He looks half like he wants to bolt and half as though he’s going to start casting hexes, his hand twitching towards the pocket which presumably contains his wand. Sirius rolls his eyes and drains his drink, ordering two bottles of beer before approaching Snape, handing him one of the bottles.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sirius says. They stand in the shadows and the music’s the kind of loud he can feel beneath his feet. He tips his head against the wall, a torn poster of some kind of drag show curling against his hair. He sips his beer. It’s safer than the rum. He’s knows where he is with beer and he’s already feeling woozy and a bit like he wants to dance, which is definitely not something to be encouraged. “I knew it would be Slytherins.”

“I might have known it would be Gryffindors.” Snape’s words are barely audible above the music. He doesn’t move away though, leaning back on the wall next to Sirius and surveying the crowd, frowning at his beer. Eventually he takes a tentative sip. “Did Potter put you in that outfit?”

Sirius pulls a face. The jeans might be a little tight, but they accentuate all the right things. Besides, Snape has no business commenting on his clothes. The day Sirius takes fashion advice from Severus Snape will be a cold day in hell. He knows the t-shirt looks good, highlighting his torso with a ‘v’ in the neck just deep enough to flash a little hair. He’s quite proud of his hair. Remus can’t even grow a decent beard, despite being half wolf. It’s always entertained Sirius no end.

“I thought you’d be in snakeskin.” Sirius gives Snape a quick glance. He looks peculiar out of fastidiously buttoned robes and tatty school trousers. He’s dressed simply in a black jumper and black trousers. He looks like he’s washed his hair. Sirius fights back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, not sure how he feels about the thought of Snape out on the pull. It makes something worm strangely in his stomach and he tightens his clammy hand around the cool beer. Christ. He doesn’t want to start thinking those kind of thoughts about Snape.

Snape scowls. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Sirius leans close, keeping his voice low. “I reckon you came here to get off with someone tonight. You washed your hair and everything.”

Snape shifts away from Sirius, his expression furious. Even in the dark club, Sirius doesn’t miss the way a flush creeps up Snape’s neck and settles on his cheeks. He also doesn’t miss the way Snape’s hand slips into his pocket to take his wand in hand, curling his fingers around it. “Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.” Sirius shifts closer to Snape. He smells good, his body lithe and taut. He’s like a coiled spring, ready to pounce. It makes Sirius shiver and a strange kind of anticipation slides through his veins. He uses his height to his advantage and looks down on Snape, tilting his face just a little until they’re staring at one another. “Fancy a fag?”

“Is that a joke?” Snape’s hissing now, practically spitting out his words. He looks as if he’s going to explode from anger and Sirius swallows, thinking of the way his stomach turned when Boot made a joke about queers during a boring potions class.

“No…I meant…” Sirius reaches out and rests his fingers on Snape’s arm. Snape eyes them warily, his jaw working. With a sigh, Sirius drops his hand and reaches into his pocket. “Cigarettes. Fancy a smoke?”

“I don’t smoke.” Snape’s still looking at the place on his arm where Sirius’ fingers had settled a moment before, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But if you want to kill yourself with too much Muggle tobacco, don’t let me stop you.” He looks up at last, a smirk playing over his lips. It doesn’t meet his eyes which are still dark and expressive, something wary and tentative in his gaze.

“Fresh air, then. Watch me smoke.” Sirius doesn’t know why he’s pushing it. It’s Snape. When James told him to get laid, he probably didn’t mean try to flirt badly with Severus Snape. He _definitely_ didn’t mean that. Sirius thinks it must be the rum and the way the music thuds around them. Maybe it’s the way Snape’s tongue slides over his lips as he takes in the sight of a couple of wizards snogging nearby. The flush in Snape's cheeks deepens.

“Only because I’ve got nothing better to do.” Snape tears his gaze away from the wizards who start grinding against one another in time to the music. He gives Sirius a look. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“As if.” Sirius snorts, but he can’t help but look back at the snogging couple with a tug of longing making his head spin. They make their way outside and lean against the wall, watching the stars and breathing in the cool night air. 

“Are you going to smoke or aren’t you?” Snape sounds cross, his words clipped.

“In a minute.” Sirius tips his head to look at Snape. “Of all the gay bars in all the world, you had to walk into mine.” 

“It’s not yours. Besides, I’m not queer.” Snape looks around, as if checking if anyone’s within earshot. His cheeks are still pink. “I’m here on business.”

“Pull the other one.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “You’re as bent as I am.”

“Fuck you, Black.” Snape pushes himself off the wall and contemplates Sirius, his eyes dark and intense. They stare at one another until the air between them pulses with the music beneath their feet and something else which made Sirius’ skin tingle and sends warmth travelling through his veins.

“Bet you’d like to,” Sirius says.

“I _hate_ you.” Even as he says it, Snape moves closer. Sirius slides trembling fingers over Snape’s jumper, over his chest. The heart of Snape _beat, beats_ beneath his palm. He spreads his fingers over that spot on Snape’s chest, breathing ragged huffs of air.

“I thought I hated you too, but I don’t know anyone like me.”

“I’m not like you, Black. I’ll never be _like you_ ,” Snape hisses.

Sirius edges closer. “Aren’t you?” God, his voice sounds breathless and so needy, like he’s parched and Snape’s the water he needs. _Snape_. It’s making Sirius’ heart quicken, taking in the hitch and catch of Snape’s breath as he shifts closer to Sirius until they’re toe to toe and chest to chest.

“No. I’m not…I’m _not_!”

Sirius doesn’t know if it’s because Snape sounds strangled and desperate. He doesn’t know if it’s because however fierce and angry Snape looks he pushes towards the touch from Sirius as if it warms him. Maybe it’s because downstairs in the dark club two boys are kissing and Sirius wants to know what that feels like. He wants to know what that feels like with Snape, who looks unexpectedly _good_ out of that Slytherin green, eyeing Sirius with strange intensity and a glimmer of uncertainty. Snape’s eyes widen as Sirius tilts his head and then his eyes close, a groan of frustration leaving his lips as he hauls Sirius in to close the distance between them.

Sirius slides his arms around Snape and despite the fact it’s Snape, they seem to fit just right. Snape pushes against Sirius and they’re against the cold wall, grunting and rutting against one another until they’re both panting and the kiss is all teeth and tongue. What starts out slow becomes a reckless, desperate thing as their lips connect over their tentative truce forged in a Knockturn Alley gay bar, with the growing realisation that perhaps they’re not that different after all. For a first kiss, it’s more heated and desperate than it has any right to be. Sirius’ stomach swoops from the intensity of it and he wonders if he could conquer the world. 

Sirius is so hard he thinks he might come in his pants. He’s a bit pissed, too. Lazy, careless, young and punch-drunk on the rum and the first touch of another man’s lips against his own. The sinewy pleasures beneath Snape’s black clothes hold decadent promise, pressed against Sirius. Snape yanks at Sirius’ t-shirt, pushing his hands underneath the cotton until his cold fingers touch hot flesh and a ragged gasp escapes Sirius’ lips. Every nerve in Sirius’ body feels sensitive and he’s never been more glad about his choice of clothing which is tight, in _all_ the right places. Sirius shoves his leg between Snape’s thighs, stonewashed denim-clad and eager. They push, pull and rut until their kisses bite hard enough to hurt. 

Snape kisses like he does everything else. Angrily. Fierce and mutinous, his teeth scrape against Sirius’ neck. It’s a moment of blissful coming together and Sirius has never been happier to be gay, to feel cock against cock and the hard response of a lean torso shift against his own. They become one body during that kiss, fused together in desperation.

They’re so busy kissing that neither of them focus on the wind whispering its promise of war as it gathers around them and the clouds cover the stars like blankets. There’s a flicker of hope as two opposing sides twine together in rum-soaked bliss. The animosity dissipated, they just cling on while the earth turns beneath their feet. Things are already set in motion, prophecies already foretold. The wheels don’t stop turning just because the brightest star of all shines down on them with fervent promise. 

This isn’t the end of the story.

It’s only the start.

*

Sometimes, Sirius wishes he’d known then what he knows now. He wishes he’d noticed the way the clouds slid over the stars until they were hardly there at all and the swell and gasp of the wind as it gathered around them. He spends a lot of time thinking about that kiss and the night the stars went out. 

It was the strangest, best and worst of his pre-Azkaban days and Sirius savours the details of it. He remembers the flex of Snape’s fingers in his hair, hot kisses and feeling like the king of the world. Sometimes he hears the wild sea beating against the prison walls and he imagines soaring over the clouds, soaked with rain and dodging bolts of lightning. He shudders in solitary pleasure when unbidden memories steal over him at the darkest times – memories of a warm rush of pleasure between them and an unexpected moment of solidarity.

It was so quick. It rushed through him, jagged hot and unexpected. It took him by surprise and crashed over him in pulsing waves until he shuddered and gasped beneath the power of those hard, searching kisses.

_Did you just…?_

_Don’t laugh at me, don’t laugh at me, don’t laugh at me_

Snape didn’t laugh. He looked smug as you like, but he didn’t laugh. The memory of the flush of surprise and pleasure turns like a kaleidoscope in Sirius’ mind. He sees that flicker of unexpected happiness and he treasures it. On days when the rain ceases for a moment he takes his broom onto the Quidditch pitch with James. Sometimes he thinks of Moony when there’s a full moon and the night is restless with howling wind and silvery clouds form animal shapes with their furry edges. But it’s always the kiss he remembers when the rain is relentless and night settles over Azkaban like a shroud. He puts his fingers to his lips and remembers how they felt when they were damp with kisses instead of rain. Warm, instead of cold. 

Hope is a desperate, dangerous thing but he holds onto it as tightly as he can. He keeps it, buried in his heart where the Dementors can’t reach. He curls up, balled into the shadows until he thinks he might sink into them once and for all. 

Perhaps that’s all he is, now. Just matted fur and furious anger. 

Sirius can’t separate love from hate or affection from violence in his muddled brain, but he can remember what they felt like and he clings onto that until he shakes with want.

Warmth. Lips. Two boys kissing on a starless night.

*

It’s cold in Grimmauld Place and Sirius has necked the best part of a small bottle of rum. He runs his hand over his chin, the stubble thick and reassuring. The burn of the liquor in his throat and the scratch of stubble against his fingers reminds him he’s _alive_. He presses his fingers to his pulse to feel the way his heart skips and beats. 

He never gets warm, these days. Not properly. Even when he tucks himself beneath heavy goose-down duvets the past settles over him and chills him to the core. There’s laughter, high and mad and whispers that shouldn’t penetrate thick stone walls. There are memories which twist through his consciousness and hit him with blunt force just when he thinks there’s a glimmer of hope. It’s mainly James, laughing and twirling Lily round and round until Sirius is dizzy with it, but sometimes it’s people too. Sometimes it’s Severus Snape looking fierce, angry and kiss-bitten. Drunk, under the light of the moon.

“You stink of booze.” Severus clinks a spoon against a chipped mug and contemplates Sirius. He’s all buttoned up, robes sweeping the dusty floor. He looks even thinner these days, his hair long, lank strands which frame his face and make him appear paler than usual. He should be disgusting to Sirius. His past and the vivid, angry blotch on his forearm are all the things Sirius despises. The Snape of his fantasies seems fictitious now, when Snape’s lips curve into a smile which never reaches his eyes and Sirius thinks he might lose everything to the inky black depths of Snape’s eyes. He should be everything Sirius hates. _Slytherin_. _Death Eater_. _Come on, Snivellus, we’re only having a laugh, look at him, he dropped his books_.

 _Don’t laugh at me, don’t laugh at me, don’t laugh at me_.

Sirius swallows, the memory of Snape’s young face etched on his mind. He tries to banish the image and curses the way it clenches and squeezes at his heart. He takes another long glug of rum and it warms him – just for a moment.

“Fuck off, Snape.”

But he doesn’t fuck off. He sits next to Sirius and the chair scrapes against the floor. He holds out a hand, his fingers long and mottled with irregular ink-spots. 

“Rum.”

“Fine.” Sirius hands him the bottle.

They drink together in silence.

It’s almost nice and the screams hush, for a moment.

*

Sirius doesn’t recognise the difference between dark and light these days. Every day is the dull, lazy grey of late afternoon or a morning just after rain. The rum numbs the pain and stills the cries of prisoners and ghosts, but even that doesn’t bring the colour back or cast sunshine-warm rays on his sallow skin.

Living in Azkaban for so long has taken its toll and his leg is torn with curses he can sense working their way through his body. It’s really just a matter of time. Harry does his best, gnawing on his thumb nail and looking distressed. He’s always trying new magic, new potions. He’s taken to whispering about Sirius with everyone from Bill Weasley to Draco Malfoy, trying to find some kind of cure.

Sirius knows it’s hopeless. His skin is too tight and his heart pounds and hammers in his chest as if it could burst out of his body. His skin crawls and itches, the desire for something unknown so painful that it settles deep in the pit of his stomach, a heavy weight. He doesn’t know if it’s the curse or his ragged, fractured mind that’s the problem. Sometimes his injury is a blissful pain which jolts him out of his thoughts into the present. Because his thoughts are often so deeply unpleasant these days, he relishes the sharp tug back to reality. He wonders if it’s like being pulled from the womb, out of darkness and into the daylight with a scream.

He wakes up choking on salt water but finds he’s breathing only air. It’s almost a disappointment, to be faced with unrelenting grey all over again. It’s dusty in Reg’s old room but Sirius can’t bear to sleep in the place which remains him of James and the past. Harry has that room and he’s glad of it. He prefers it here, with a soft, stuffed snake with one of its eyes missing. It’s been hugged so tightly for so many years that the fur is almost all worn off and Sirius buries his nose in its warmth, hoping to find something which reminds him of Reg. A light scent, a trace of magic long gone. He wonders what Moony and Prongs would say if they could see him now, sleeping with a snake. He finds that funny, laughter gurgling and bubbling up until it bursts free from his lips. He’s undoubtedly not the full five Galleons, these days. His body is strange and hot, breathing sometimes achingly difficult. He checks his legs and winces at the gash that never quite seems to heal, deep and dark.

“I don’t want help,” he growls, as the door nudges open to let in a cool rush of air.

“I don’t care.” Harry folds his arms. He glances over his shoulder, looking torn. “You’re getting help. You’re all I’ve got, you know.”

Sirius winces. Trust Harry to give it to him like a punch in the stomach. His heart clenches and he sighs, pulling a face. “What – or who – are you hiding back there?”

“A friend.” Harry sounds doubtful like he doesn’t quite believe it. He hisses something to the person in the shadows, cross and clipped. “At least, I thought he was.”

“I’m hardly your friend, you impertinent child.” With a sniff, Snape enters the room and his gaze lingers on Sirius. With a quick, dark look at Harry, he yanks open the curtains and mutters something rude under his breath. “It’s his leg, you say?”

“Yeah. I think it’s a curse or something. The usual stuff doesn’t seem to be working.”

Snape turns his eyes to the ceiling. “Your idea of the _usual stuff_ and mine, are likely to differ.”

Harry presses his lips together, his eyes flashing. “I know that, why do you think I asked you to come?”

“I imagine because you have no other alternative having exhausted every other possible option.” Snape approaches the bed, tugging back the duvet.

“Piss off, will you?” The unforgiving sun makes Sirius wince and he wants to yank the duvet back over his legs. They look pale and sickly, his left leg bloodied and raw and the rest of his body ripe with the scent of sweat and one too many days in bed.

“I need to take him with me.” 

“Out of the question,” Harry says.

“Not a fucking chance.” Sirius glares at Snape.

Snape pockets his wand and pulls the duvet back over Sirius. “Then you might as well close the curtains and leave him to stew in his own filth. I couldn’t care less.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Sirius who turns the full force of his displeasure on Harry. “Don’t you bloody think about it, Harry. Me and Snape? He probably wants to kill me.”

Snape snorts, softly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Black. I have no desire to find myself in Azkaban after having narrowly avoided a stint there after the war. However, I’m quite sure Potter doesn’t have the necessary ingredients to hand. I refuse to spend my time living in this dusty hovel again when I have a perfectly serviceable home with a fully functioning potions laboratory.”

A strange emotion worms through Sirius’ chest. It’s not pleasant exactly, but it’s something. It’s more than the same, dull monotony of feeling _fine_. It makes his skin spark and he shuffles up in the bed, watching Snape.

“What’s in it for you?”

Snape smirks. “That’s none of your business.”

“Why the _hell_ are you here?” Sirius tugs the duvet up to his chin, aware he sounds like a petulant child and feeling a bit like one under Snape’s disapproving glare.

Harry shrugs and casts a quick look at Snape. “He owes me one.”

Snape glares. “I hardly think a half-arsed plea on my behalf after I spent _years_ at the mercy of a Dark Wizard to save your scrawny backside entitles you to anything, Potter. If you must know, I’m here because Draco has offered to source some rather rare ingredients that I cannot otherwise acquire given my current financial status.”

Sirius growls. “I’m not having my care paid for by a Malfoy.”

“Then my business here is concluded.” Snape makes his way to the door.

“Wait! I mean…” Harry looks at Sirius, his expression pleading. “He’s just being an arse, he doesn’t mean it.”

Sirius looks at Harry and then back at Snape before heaving a sigh, rubbing his hand over his eyes. The sunlight’s beginning to sting and the dull pain in his leg has become a sharp ache. “Fine, but I’m going to have my wand and I’m watching what you put in those potions of yours.”

Snape rolls his eyes. “As if you’d know the difference between poison and remedy. Shower and forget about bringing any liquor with you. I wish to leave shortly. I’m in the middle of brewing a very delicate potion brewing that I cannot leave unattended for more than an hour.”

Sirius shrugs, watching Snape closely. He doesn’t miss the way Snape’s Adam’s apple bobs briefly or the way he doesn’t quite hold Sirius’ gaze. “Whatever you say.”

Harry looks bemused, running a hand through his hair. He clears his throat, a flush rising in his cheeks. “Did Malfoy say _why_ he wanted you to help?”

Snape looks mildly nauseous. “Ah, yes. He requested, perhaps…” Snape waves a hand, pulling a face. “Dinner.”

“With you?” Harry stares at Snape, who narrows his eyes.

“Is the idea so horrifying?” He shakes his head. “No, you idiot. With you.” Snape shudders. “Now _that_ is horrifying.”

“Oh.” Harry gives Sirius a quick look, as if seeking his approval.

With a groan, Sirius falls back on the bed and closes his eyes.

It’s been a very strange day.

*

“Tea?”

“Whisky?” Sirius looks hopefully at Snape, who narrows his eyes and shakes his head.

“Tea or coffee, that’s all I’m offering.”

Sirius sighs. “Fine. Tea. I’ll make it.”

Snape waves a hand. “You know where everything is.”

“I do.” Sirius begins to make the tea, flicking his wand to boil some water and watching Severus pour over a large, dusty book. The last week has been surprisingly tolerable. He and Snape - _Severus_ \- have managed not to kill one another, for a start. They’ve got on surprisingly well, all things considered. His leg’s not fully healed but it’s much better and the heaviness in his chest has lifted somewhat. The sound of Snape puttering around the place is strangely comforting and the flush of the loo and soft scent of potions brewing have helped him sleep better than he ever did at Grimmauld Place. He still keeps the stuffed snake on his bed, a fact Severus mercifully hasn’t commented on. Instead of making Sirius feel desperate however, it’s like a comfort blanket. Warm, soft and soothing. “I’m probably nearly ready to go back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Indeed.” Severus scowls at his book, turning over the page and making a note in the margin. “If you wish.”

“Well I can’t stay here.” Sirius pours the tea, taking a cup to Severus and settling next to him.

“Hmm.” Severus glances up and then closes his book. He contemplates Sirius for a long moment. “You’re no longer feeling the impact of the curse?”

Sirius shrugs, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Severus arches an eyebrow.

“I still feel off.” Sirius takes a sip of his tea, wincing when it burns his throat. “Out of sorts.”

Snape raises his eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t doubt it. You’re probably missing shagging half of wizarding Britain.”

Sirius splutters on his tea. “I’m probably _what_?”

Snape licks his lips, studying Sirius. He speaks very slowly, drawing out the sentence. “Missing all that fucking I imagine you indulged in after your release from Azkaban.”

A burst of laughter leaves Sirius’ lips and he shakes his head. “You pillock. I lived as a dog in a cave. I’ve been in bed for a month. My own, I might add. When the fuck would I have had the time to go off and have a quick shag?”

“Whenever you wished, I would have thought.” A dull flush creeps over Severus’ neck. “You’re not unattractive and I can’t imagine-”

“Can’t imagine what? Can’t imagine I’ve only had one pathetic snog?”

Snape’s expression shutters, his lips pressing in a furious line and Sirius realises his mistake instantly. “Pathetic? You’re right, Black. You should go back to Grimmauld Place as soon as you can. I have little interest in playing nursemaid to an arrogant Gryffindor with cotton wool between his ears.”

Sirius groans. “You daft prick. I didn't mean you were pathetic. _I_ am. Do you know how many times I thought about that kiss in Azkaban? How much I wanted to live to do it again?” Sirius lets out a bark of laughter. “And that's when I thought you were evil, too. I must have been mad.”

“It’s the sort of place that does that to a person, so I hear.” Snape stares at Sirius. He’s got an unfathomable look about him that Sirius can’t quite place. “You must have wanted more from someone?”

“Obviously.” Sirius winces, an unexpected flash of pain travelling through his leg. In a moment, Snape’s by his side uncorking a potion and muttering something under his breath. It sounds like _bloody Gryffindors_. Sirius smiles, taking a swig of the potion and letting it settle. He leans back, the warmth of Severus behind him oddly comforting. A slender hand with long fingers settles on his shoulder and squeezes, before the warmth disappears and Severus is hunched over his book again, his shoulders tense.

“You should rest. The potion will help you sleep.”

Sirius does feel warm and cosy, the effects of the potion soothing him and covering him like a warm blanket. He yawns, nodding his head.

“Okay, then.”

“I have an engagement this evening. There’s bread, cheese and milk if you wish to make yourself supper.”

A tightness clenches at Sirius’ chest as he wonders what Severus is doing and who he’s seeing.

“An engagement?”

“Potter wishes to be updated on your welfare in person. As they are apparently now inseparable, Malfoy has invited me for supper.” Severus winces. “I assure you, I would much rather be left in peace to continue my reading than watch Potter moon over Draco whilst I'm eating my soup.”

Relief floods through Sirius, something he doesn’t want to examine too closely when he’s tired and his eyelids are already starting to droop.

“Tell Harry I said hi. Tell Malfoy…well, tell him whatever you like. I don’t care. Maybe I’ll come with you next time. Or Harry can come here, if he wants.”

“One Gryffindor in my home at any given time is quite enough.” Severus rolls his eyes, contemplating Sirius. “I will pass on the message and let Potter know you'll be well enough to join us next time. Now sleep.”

Sirius yawns again, almost as if on command. “Right then.”

When he leaves the room he gives Severus one last look.

He’s frowning and making jagged notes on a thin piece of parchment and he doesn’t look up.

*

“You’re drunk.” It’s amusing, seeing Severus misplaced. His jumper looks a little rumpled and his usually pinched expression relaxes, as his cheeks flush. A warmth rushes through Sirius as he contemplates Severus. “How were the Potter-Malfoys?”

Severus snorts. “You found the booze, I see.” He pours himself a small glass and tips it in Sirius’ direction. “They send their best. We’re invited for supper next week.”

“Brilliant.” Sirius hides his smile behind his glass. There’s no mention of Sirius hurrying back to Grimmauld Place and apparently he and Severus are a _we_ now. The thought makes him feel strangely warm. “Was Malfoy as insufferable as ever?”

Severus glares down his nose at Sirius. “Draco was the perfect host. Potter, however….” He trails off, draining his drink with a wince. He tops it up and leans against the wall. “He’s very persistent when it comes to your well-being.”

“I’m sure.” Sirius stands and moves closer to Severus. He’s close enough that he can smell the familiar scent of potions and the faint scent of alcohol and spices.

“What on earth are you doing?” Severus’ voice doesn’t sound as smooth as usual and Sirius shrugs. He presses closer to Severus.

“It was weird, wasn’t it? How we both chose that night to go to the club?”

“Weird.” Severus seems to agree, his eyes heavy and dark. The word hovers as if it’s not something Severus is familiar with. He closes his eyes and it affords Sirius a moment to take in the way his throat works and the pale angle of his jaw as it tilts upwards.

“I think we should fuck,” Sirius says.

Snape’s eyes snap open, then narrow. “Why?”

Sirius won’t let himself blush. He clears his throat and rakes a hand through his hair before putting it against the wall next to Severus, caging them in, whisky warm and breathing against one another’s lips. “Because I haven’t done that before, and I want to.”

Sirius doesn’t miss the way Snape’s breath hitches. He presses closer until he can feel the heat radiating through Severus. “Don’t you want to?”

“Go to bed, you daft mutt.” Severus closes his eyes and breathes in and out with a hiss.

“I don’t want to.” Sirius brushes his thumb over Snape's bottom lip and Snape’s eyes open.

“I’ll be along shortly.”

And, oh. Sirius swallows, starting at Snape before nodding and making his way upstairs. When he showers, he whistles a song. He’s not sure he knows it’s name, but he can remember strobe lights and the way Snape looked when he was as young as Sirius can remember him being. That was back in the days when Severus tried so hard not to be queer and Sirius thought he had everything to live for.

Sirius spits out toothpaste into the sink and contemplates himself in the mirror. It looks like there’ll be a thunderstorm tonight. He puts his toothbrush into the glass and moves into the room, poking his head out of the window. The wind has gathered momentum but the sky is clear.

He breathes in the air and watches the stars.

*

Severus joins him in a cold slide of awkward limbs. They stare at one another, before their lips connect in a deep, heavy kiss full of desire.

“I won’t…”

“We’ve got time…”

Snape seems to know what he’s doing and it’s as arousing as it is frustrating. His fingers wrap around Sirius’ cock and they kiss hard and fast, sweet and slow. It’s a heady mix of need and when Severus pushes Sirius onto his back he begins to feel the itch beneath his skin dissipate. When Snape takes his wrist and pushes it against the soft covers, Sirius jerks up, so close to coming, so soon.

“Steady.” It’s pornographic, the way Snape murmurs in his ear. The sure slide of Severus’ hand over Sirius’ cock has him pleading for more.

“More, quicker, I --”

“Impatient.” Severus smiles against his neck and Sirius groans as those deft fingers squeeze the base of his cock, stunting his orgasm. After a breathless tussle, Snape slides down Sirius’ body and envelops his cock in delicious wet heat. 

The sensation makes Sirius arch up in a way he’s quite sure most would consider rude. He bites back an apology when Snape looks at him with dark eyes, sucking him down, down, down.

With a desperate groan, Sirius pushes his hand into Severus’ hair. He’s back there. Back in that small, cold, cell where the rain never seems to stop. He’s back in those endless dreams of beautiful boys and tanned torsos. Back in that one memory of the kisses that left his heart in flames. He arches up, desperate and not in any frame of mind to apologise for his obvious neediness. Severus seems to understand, pushing him back down and holding him firm until Sirius is shaking and crying out _Severus, Severus_ as his thighs tremble and his body shudders through the most pleasurable orgasm he’s ever had.

When it’s done, Severus slides a hand into his pants and wanks while Sirius watches. They kiss, when Severus comes all over his fist with a grunt. When Sirius makes an excuse to leave the bedroom for a moment he checks the window.

The stars shine brighter than ever before.

*

Sirius contemplates Severus, taking in the lines on his face and the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating really hard. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”

Severus looks over the rim of his paper, raising an eyebrow at Sirius and pressing his lips together. Always so suspicious. He rustles his paper. “No.”

“Nor me.” Sirius leans forward and tugs the paper from Severus’ hands, earning him a glare. He doesn’t like it when Severus hides behind the _Prophet_. It’s a terrible rag, not to mention it usually means Snape is trying to ignore him.

Severus folds the paper with a huff, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Is there any memory in particular that’s so entertaining?”

“I was thinking about how romantic our first kiss was.” Sirius winks at Severus. “You were incredibly charming.”

Severus rolls his eyes. “I thought you were a pillock and you were pissed as a newt.”

“I was not.” Sirius puts a hand on his heart. “Sober as the Wizengamot, me.”

“Barely able to stand.” Severus’ lips tug into a smirk. “Although still able to get a hard on and come in your pants, obviously.”

“ _Obviously_.” Sirius gives Severus a look, up and down. _Don’t laugh at me_. “No fear of losing a hard on when I was fifteen.”

“No fear of losing that when you’re fifty,” Severus mutters. He picks the paper up again, turning it to the side and frowning. He’s obviously absorbed in a crossword. Sirius would quite like to distract him from that. They might be ancient these days, but they’re still perfectly capable of shagging the weekend away.

“Life in the old dog yet.” Sirius nudges the paper away from Snape again. “Will you put that bloody thing down? I’m trying to reminisce.”

“To what end?” Severus doesn’t retrieve the paper nevertheless.

“Because I’m bored, horny and I’ve been cooped up in this damn place for the last three days.”

Severus stares at Sirius. “We’re on vacation. You insisted we come here. It’s going to be peaceful, you said. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since I arrived.”

“No.” Sirius licks his lips again. “I suppose you haven’t.”

Severus groans. “ _Again_?” He looks interested though. His eyes have that wicked glint in them that Sirius likes the best. “If you plan to continue pawing at me for the duration of our trip I might have to tie you up until you keep your hands to yourself.”

Sirius adjusts himself, none too subtly. “Oh, yes. You probably should.”

Severus clears his throat, his eyes darkening. “I’m afraid I left our…favourite items at home.”

Sirius grins, flicking his wand to Summon and resize the bag he carefully packed in a small corner of his case. “Luckily, I didn't.”

Severus eyes the misshapen bag and then rolls his eyes heavenward. “Of course you did.” He doesn’t look unhappy though and his lips twitch with suppressed laughter. His eyes have that dark, interested look which always means good things are going to happen to Sirius.

Sirius props his bare foot on the chair by Severus and rolls up the ankle of his trousers, rubbing at a light twinge in his leg. When he looks up again, Severus appears flushed and interested, his lips thin and wet as if he’s been sliding his tongue over them whilst watching Sirius.

“You’re impossible.”

Sirius gives Severus a wink. He was _impossible_ when he insisted on keeping the half-destroyed snake next to their bed in their first few months together, when they barely left the bedroom. He was _impossible_ when he learned how to deep throat until Severus forgot how to say his name, rasping it out in broken syllables and jagged breaths. He was _impossible_ the first time he was handcuffed and Severus made sure every single part of Sirius ached before sliding long, lubricated fingers inside his body. On that particular occasion, Sirius begged and pleaded until Severus looked just as desperate as Sirius was sure he must have done. Sirius shivers as he remember the way Severus slid carefully but firmly inside him, hoisting his legs up and fucking him hard, deep and slow until Sirius couldn't have said what day of the week it was. Severus Snape. Utter arsehole, sometimes, but surprisingly good at sex. _Very_ good with his hands.

Sirius rakes a hand through his hair, watching Severus. He was _impossible_ when he told Severus he loved him, kissed hard on the lips as if a kiss could ever swallow back the words. Sirius never went back to Grimmauld Place for any length of time, apart from that one weekend when Snape was being a twat and Sirius wasn’t any better. They lasted one night before Severus let himself in through the Floo, dusted off his robes and told Harry to bugger off into another room.

They curled up together in the dusty old bed with the well worn snake beside them after the kind of athletic sex that had Draco knocking on the wall and begging them to _shut the fuck up_.

Sirius didn’t care. When he got up to piss in the middle of the night, he looked out of the curtains and watched the stars. He remembers the way Harry tried very, very hard not to meet his gaze in the morning, sloshing a large mug of coffee down on the table and muttering something about official Auror business before disappearing into another room, looking a bit pale. Draco had been less polite, watching them both before rolling his eyes and muttering something like _if my father knew about this_ which made Severus smirk.

Severus clears his throat, bringing Sirius back to the present. Sirius shrugs. “I’m always impossible.” He slides his hand up his leg as the pain dissipates. He palms his cock, already half-hard just from the way Severus looks at him, dark-eyed and wanting.

They kiss. Severus tastes like tea, and warm butter on freshly toasted bread. Sirius pulls him closer, remembering a time when their kisses tasted like rum and two boys kissed under the dim gaze of a Knockturn Alley gay bar, while the world turned on, and on. 

_~Fin~_


End file.
